


Aren't I?

by Mommadon



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Lbscexchange, Lbscexchange2020, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:06:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22258420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mommadon/pseuds/Mommadon
Summary: A great song+bakery shenanigans=*swoon*
Relationships: Luka Couffaine/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug
Comments: 4
Kudos: 44
Collections: Lovebugs and Snake Charmers





	Aren't I?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [verfound](https://archiveofourown.org/users/verfound/gifts).



> Happy Valentine's Day to Ver! I hope you enjoy this work to you from me, your Secret Sender. :) Thank you, also, for introducing me to not only a great song but also a great artist. I really enjoyed doing some "research" for this one. 
> 
> And for everyone else, the song is Emerson Hart's "Lucky One" and you should all go look it up right now. Right right now. Off with you. But come back and be ready to wwaaaaaaaawe! all night with Tom Dupain and me.

“Ok, I know it’s a little sloppy, but just… taste it first and be honest, ok?”

Juleka’s eyes probed her brother’s from under her hair. “I don’t know, Luka, you know I hate this kind of thing.”

“Please, Jule, I need a girl’s opinion, and you know the kinds of things Marinette likes. Just taste it?”

Luka slid the plate across the tiny mess hall table. She poked the brown blob with her fork and watched it jiggle ominously. But Juleka, determined to be a good sister, bravely took a bite. She chewed very slowly, swallowed, then bit her lip nervously.

“Well?” he queried.

“Um, well, I mean,” she muttered, trying to find the right words for Luka’s concoction, “did you use a recipe?”

His nose wrinkled, “You know Mom doesn’t keep cookbooks around, she says they just dampen creativity.”

“And this is supposed to be…?”

“Chocolate cake?” he responded, feeling the dread welling up inside him. 

“Well, it’s… um…”

He flopped to the chair beside Juleka. “It’s horrible, isn’t it.”

“Sorry, Luka, but yes, it’s dreadful.”

He slumped forward and his head thudded against the table. “I can make a great Bolognese. I’ve got the perfect spot on the Seine picked out. I’ve designed an amazing playlist. But I _can’t_ seem to make a dessert.”

Juleka leaned against her brother’s arm in the way she’d always comforted him, ever since he could remember, “You’re doing so much already, Luka—you don’t have to make everything, you know.”

He sat back and looked at Juleka with skeptical smirk, “This is Marinette we’re talking about. She always makes everything, for everyone. I am _not_ going to show up without dessert.”  
Juleka poked at the sad…thing… on the plate in front of her again. “Maybe you could take her out for dessert? Go find Andre or something?”

He shook his head mournfully, “We’ve already done ice cream. I wanted this to be really different; super special. As special as she is to me.”

“Well, what’s her favorite thing? Maybe you can buy it?”

He pondered for a moment, “You know, I’m not sure what her favorite dessert is.”

“Why don’t you ask her?”

“Ask her? No way, then she’d know I was planning something. But, there _is_ someone I could ask…” Juleka looked at her brother quizzingly, but he just smiled softly and kissed the side of her head. “Oh, that’s brilliant,” he muttered to himself. “Thanks, Jules, you’re a lifesaver.”

“You’re welcome,” she responded quietly, inwardly laughing at his predictable antics.

* * *

“I’ve almost…oh… yeah!... HEY! What was that?” Tom Dupain growled and lifted his elbows to get a better grip on the controller.

Marinette was perched on the arm of the couch. When his elbows rose, they knocked into her thigh and his tiny—thanks to his wife’s petite genes—daughter went flying. “Waaa!” He laughed at her howl. “Foul play!” Marinette groused from the floor, but she’d managed to hold on to her controller, and executed a phenomenal combination while clambering to her feet simultaneously. 

“Nice move!” Sabine cheered from the back of the room. Marinette had regained the lead by a tiny margin.

The bell rang in the bakery downstairs. Tom frantically shut the game off, “Well, I guess that’s that,” he yelped with a wink as he jumped to his feet and scrambled to the door. 

“Hey!” Marinette grumbled, “Excuses!” And as her father just waved, she added, “Maybe one of these days you’ll beat me _without_ cheating!”

He was still grinning ear-to-ear when he made it to the front of the bakery. “Can I help you?” he said automatically, even before he made eye contact with his customer. “Oh, Luka! It’s you! Is everything alright?”

“Oh, yes, sir,” the young man smiled, “I just had a… favor to ask you.”

“Papa? Is everything ok?” Marinette’s voice called from the residence above.

“Yeah, honey it’s just Lu-“ But Luka’s eyes widened in horror and he brazenly grasped Tom’s arm with a fervent shake of his head-“u-u-cille! Yeah, uh, Lucille, you know, from the… oh nevermind, it’s fine, everything’s fine, just stay up there!”

Luka pinched the bridge of his nose. There was no doubt where Marinette’s adorable hyperactivity came from. Meanwhile, Tom bounced from toe to toe. He loved being let in on secret plans, and if Luka didn’t want Marinette to know he was here, that _definitely_ qualified as a secret plan.

“What is it?” Tom’s whisper was louder than his normal voice. 

Luka smiled softly, “Well, first, I guess I need your permission. See, Marinette and I have been hanging out a lot recently, and I think she’s the most special person I’ve ever met… as sincere as a melody… and, well, I’d like to ask her… to be my girlfriend.”

Tom’s eyes were as big as saucers and growing. “Aaaaaawe!”

Luka was looking at him expectantly. Tom said nothing more. The seconds were ticking by. Finally, Luka leaned forward slightly, his nose crunching in concern, “So, is that a yes?”

Tom blinked rapidly, “Oh yeah, didn’t I say yes?”

“No, you said, ‘Awe.’” 

“Well,” he laughed, “I meant yes. Yes!” Tom’s face split into a huge grin and he crushed Luka in a beefy hug. But then he dropped the young man as he realized what he was doing, and scary-protective dad clawed its way out of Tom’s gushy center. “Hang on, you’d better treat her right. Respect her wishes and all that. No hiding out in bedrooms. Ten o’clock curfew. No, nine. Yes, nine is good.” 

Luka’s eyes popped in surprise, “Uh, yessir… wait … Nine?” One of Tom’s eyebrows was so low it completely obscured his eye. The other protruded out of his skull so far that Luka was afraid it might poke him. He looked like a terrible pirate captain and suddenly Luka feared for his life. “No, of course, sir, if that’s what your rules are, I’ll obey them gladly for a moment with Marinette.”

Tom threw his head back and laughed heartily. “Oh son, I’m just teasing. You don’t need my permission to ask her to be your girlfriend. In fact, you don’t need my permission at all—Marinette is capable of making her own decisions.” 

Luka backpedaled a bit, “Oh, I didn’t mean she wasn’t capable… she’s _more_ than capable to make her own decisions...” Tom just smiled expectantly, allowing the younger man to flounder a bit in awkwardness, “I just wanted to let you know my intentions and get to know you, I guess.”

Tom pondered that while rubbing his chin. “Good answer.” He wrapped his arm around Luka’s shoulders and squeezed him, this time as a man, as an equal. But Tom still hissed in Luka’s ear, “But if you hurt her… let’s just say, you’ll understand what a loaf of bread feels like when it’s being punched down.”

Luka gulped, but Tom was laughing again, so he tittered along with him. Tom let him go and started tidying the bakery. It was approaching closing time, but the traffic had been waning for the last hour and a half. “So,” Tom started genially, “when do you plan to ask her?”

“That’s the thing,” Luka asked, perusing the shelves, “Since it’s Valentine’s day on Friday, I was planning on taking her out then. I’ve got a really romantic—uh, I mean, _nice—_ date planned,” he quipped, trying not to reveal how deeply he was crushing on this huge man’s daughter. “I’ve got the dinner in mind, and venue and music, but… I’ve got a serious problem.”

Tom’s head quirked to one side, “Transportation?”

“No, no, we can share my bike—”

Tom’s face suddenly drained of all color, “Hang on, no, Luka, I can’t help you with—”

He wasn’t sure where Tom’s mind had wandered, but he quickly lifted a hand to halt it—“Dessert! I can’t bake for the life of me! I really wanted a special dessert, something Marinette loves, but everything I touch just goes… funny. Sir, would you be willing to… help me?”

Tom’s hands flew to his cheeks and his mouth dropped open in a huge ‘o’. “You… want me to help you… make a special dessert… for your date with Marinette?” Marinette’s imposing father started shaking with excitement. Luka’s shoulders shrugged slightly as his head nodded. “Oh my goodness this is the best day of my life!”

* * *

Marinette punched the volume of her speakers up a few notches for this song. Her sewing machine hummed along with it as she fed it yard upon yard of sky blue fabric. The guitar entered and words started popping out at her. _“Life goes up, life goes down, when it sparkles…”_ She spun her chair to her chest of fabric and found a scrap of glittery blue and jumped back to her skirt and started folding the fabric in her fingers—feeling for how it moved and communicated to her. It would make a perfect accent, but how to incorporate it… “ _I fought the riches, it’s all in your eyes.”_ “Oh!” she gasped, knowing exactly what she wanted. The glittering fabric slipped to her lap as she flipped back to her sketch book and started doodling. No flowers, no, not this time. Swirls, spirals, music, _snakes._

Yes. That was it. That was the pattern. She pulled the pieced skirt away from the machine and grabbed her embroidery hoop, but in her excitement, she snipped her finger with her shears. “Ouch,” she moaned to herself and dropped the skirt to go find a bandage. The small box in her sewing drawer was empty—she must have been poking herself more than usual recently—oh well. She sucked on her pinky while throwing open the trap door and running down the stairs.

* * *

“Are you sure she’s not going to notice I’m here?” Luka fretted.

Tom paused and looked up the stairs to the residence. He could hear Marinette’s music pounding from two stories above them. “Yeah, she’s in her zone. The only thing that could distract her now is an akuma, in which case I suggest you run for cover.”

Luka, yet again, wasn’t sure if he should laugh or not. But Tom was smiling, so he did as well. 

“Alright, Luka, let’s get started on this dessert. Are you _sure_ you want to do Marinette’s favorite?”

Luka nodded confidently. “If I’m going to do this, I want to do it right.”

“It’s just that… well…” Tom nervously tapped his fingers together, “it’s one of the more complicated things we make here at the bakery. I usually only make one on special order, and we only keep the leftovers. Of course I’ll make one for her birthday and other special occasions, but…”

Luka gritted his teeth and nodded tersely, “It sounds perfect. I’m not afraid.”

Tom grinned at this response. “Alrighty then, we’re actually going to start with the garnish, which will have to dry overnight before we can finish assembling. So, here’s an apron,” he said, tossing Luka a frilly pink thing which he put on without hesitation. “And make sure you wash up—first rule of the kitchen.” 

“Aye, Captain,” he responded and marched to the sink to scrub his fingernails raw. 

“Now, we’re going to temper this chocolate so we can make some shapes with it. I need you to chop about half this block, pretty fine.” 

“Chop it… like onion?”

Tom smiled, “More or less. We just need to get it small enough to melt evenly, so it doesn’t have to be perfect.”

“Right.” Luka got to work. Marinette’s music got a little louder above. He couldn’t quite make out the chords—just the thumping bass. His head instinctively bobbed along as he carefully chopped the chocolate bar. 

“Hey Luka, have you ever candied orange peel before?” Tom asked. Luka pursed his lips.

“Uh… I thought I told you I was a beginner?” 

Tom laughed. “As soon as you’ve got that chocolate ready, put it in the bowl there and then come here. There’s something quite magical about candied orange peel…”

But suddenly, there was a crash upstairs and Marinette’s music got a whole lot louder. Luka was helpless as he heard her barreling towards them, flight after flight of stairs… 

He froze. The door above them flew open and Marinette slid down the handrail. “Papa, where’s the bandages?” she chirped through a mouthful of finger. Tom looked desperately at her, trying—but failing miserably—to _not_ look at Luka, who had a knife coated with chocolate flakes gripped in his fist like he’d been caught murdering the poor bar of sweet goodness. “In the… drawer with the rest of the first aid supplies?” Luka inwardly moaned. There was no way Marinette was oblivious enough to not hear the shiftiness in Tom’s voice. Plus, he was standing _right there._ He was doomed. His carefully laid plan was going to flop miserably. _Here lies Luka’s masterplan, foiled because he couldn’t just take Marinette out to ice cream like a normal person…_

“Thanks,” she muttered as she breezed straight past the statue of Luka with the knife and to the back of the bakery kitchen where they stored their first aid supplies. She hummed to herself absentmindedly and took an excruciatingly long time to wash her bleeding pinky finger.

Luka’s nose was itching. He didn’t move.

“How’s your design coming, honey?” Tom asked, trying desperately to get her to look at him, not at Luka who was standing two meters away in broad daylight.

“Sure, I’ll get right on that,” she responded, and returned to her humming. She pulled out a small bandage and wrapped it around her finger, then held it up to the light for inspection. 

Luka’s nose was _really_ itching. Like, the mother of all itches. But he still didn’t move. 

Marinette seemed satisfied with her bandage, and brought her own pinky to her lips and kissed it better with a noisy smack. Then she twirled on her toe and skipped back to the stairs, only missing Luka by a matter of centimeters. 

He still didn’t move. 

“Thanks, Papa,” she trilled and took the stairs two at a time. 

The door clicked behind her and Luka dropped the knife on the cutting board and crumpled in a heap of nerves. Tom burst out laughing. Luka was scratching his nose with vigor. 

“I can’t believe she didn’t notice me!”

“What did I say about ‘the zone?’” 

Luka couldn’t help but swoon at how cute she was… but he did make a mental note: never underestimate Marinette’s obliviousness again.

* * *

Luka looked up at the star-flecked sky and thanked whatever deity had given him this moment. It was the first time he’d taken his eyes off her all night. Her outfit alone could have held his attention for days—she’d somehow managed to make snakes and music a perfect, and rather beautiful, combination embroidered across the rippling fabric. But far more pressing on his mind was that face, those wide, soft eyes, the lightly blushed cheeks, the curved jaw, the silken hair waving over her forehead and ears…

“Marinette,” he breathed, “you… are _so_ beautiful.”

She giggled. “You’re not so bad yourself,” she teased, pushing back her plate of Bolognese and leaning into his side. “That was _delicious._ You seriously made it yourself?” 

“Of course,” he bantered. “What, do you think I don’t know how to cook?”

“No, I don’t doubt you could do anything you put your mind to,” she laughed back. Encouraged by her compliment, he brought his arm around her shoulders. She snuggled in tighter and he felt his heart leap to his throat. They sat in companionable silence for quite some time, watching the lamplight sparkle on the Seine, and enjoying this unseasonably warm, stunningly perfect, Valentine’s night.

“Marinette?” 

“Hmm?”

“I have one more surprise for you,” he said, reaching into the bottom of the picnic basket he’d set out. He pulled out the white box and placed it in front of her. “But before you can open it, I’ve been working on a song. Not _your_ song, mind you—that one is still in progress.”

She nodded her understanding and he picked up his guitar from the bench beside her. He pulled it over his shoulder and started picking chords in an achingly familiar pattern.

Marinette’s eyes flew open and started watering by the third chord. His voice was rich and warm and enveloped her as he sang the first verse. He smiled through the words and nodded at the white box, silently giving her permission to open it just as he reached the first chorus. She slipped her finger under the lid and was greeted by the perfect smell of her favorite kiwi mousse cake, covered in the most beautiful chocolate petals and candied orange and strawberries. “Oh!” she sighed in ecstasy.

_“In the darkest of December—”_ Luka’s voice reached the high note effortlessly— _“When your smile’s my only sun, It’s all mine to remember…”_

Marinette put her hand on his knee and sang the rest of the chorus with him, “ _Aren’t I the lucky one?”_

His fingers stopped playing as the two gazed at each other. _“Aren’t I the lucky one?”_ she murmured once more. 

His pick dropped to the ground as he took her chin in his hand and pulled her in for a deep, slow, longing kiss.

Finally, the two separated. “So… does that mean you’ll be my girlfriend?” he breathed.

She looked down at the perfect cake. She ran her fingers down the neck of his guitar and then over his hand, up across his chest, to his neck and finally rested them on his soft, hungry lips.

“Yes.”

* * *


End file.
